I haven’t been in the mood to write much. I don’t know why. Maybe I feel vulnerable.

I surprised myself and attended all of the workshops with Max Strom I signed up for last weekend.

After “The Healing Power of Forgiveness” lecture Max presented, I stayed awake late into the morning hours because I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t really thinking anything, so it’s not like my thoughts were keeping me up. I was just filled with energy.

So much energy.

I still actually feel that way, even though I have been extremely tired/wiped out at the same time.

I actually told some of my friends about Max coming to town because I had already shared about his “Learn to Breathe” DVD on Facebook before I ever knew he was coming to town. So one of my best friends and her husband decided to come with me for the Forgiveness lecture.

It was nice to not be there alone. It’s been so long since I haven’t felt alone in this healing process (if this process is a healing process and not something else I don’t even know yet.) There are still times I feel really alone, but the structure of my life –and me– is changing. I’m a lot more open these days, more uninhibited, more real (I’d say,) and less ashamed.

(As an aside, I did get to use my special Forgiveness Tissues I mentioned in my last post. I even got to share them. )

The shame waves still take me down every once in a while, but they don’t seem to be as high as they used to be. Not as powerful. Either I’ve gotten stronger or the shame has become weaker…or maybe both…which is extremely cool.

I’m able to step back when it feels like I’m about to go down and say, “Wait a minute, that’s shame and it’s not really mine.” Or…which isn’t quite as fun (but no less useful) I am able to step back and look at what I’m experiencing and see where I need to step up and grow beyond myself a little bit…or a lot, but with realistic expectations.

Oh, this growing thing.

I have therapy tonight.

I sometimes wish I could just punch things into a computer and put all the pieces together to make them whole again without all the elements having to actually go through getting where they need to be. But then it wouldn’t be real life, and real life is what I’m after. I don’t want just a virtual life.

The part that is so hard is looking up, making eye contact and not just watching images interact on a screen.

In his workshops, Max actually spoke on how with the technologic developments that are going on robots are becoming more human and humans are becoming less so. It’s easy to see and say that, harder to take responsibility for our humanity and counteract it.

Especially when so many people are hurting.

It’s sometimes seems easier (and better) to stop breathing and let the robots do it for us.I know it’s a lie. Most things that steal true, authentic life away is a lie.

But lies can be enticing, even when you know what it is.

The lie says you can do that (in this case, not breathe) and still get away with it.

LIE.

Anyway, Max didn’t talk about lies. He talked about breathing. And he didn’t just talk about it. He demonstrated and taught how to do it too.

I like lectures, but I’m always getting myself caught up in these damn experiential things! lol

A word about Max Strom that I haven’t really read anywhere else. He’s known as a respected yoga teacher and somebody who teaches deep breathing (the kind that actually gives and sustains real life,) but nowhere have I ever seen that Max…is for the children.

Yes, Max is a teacher who gets it.

Hang in with me here as I try to explain…

He understands about the hurt and pain and struggles of our lives, but he’s not blind to the origin. Our pasts…and most commonly, our childhood. Without saying a word about creepy inner child stuff (Inner child stuff is not really creepy, but it has always just creeped me out.) he speaks to the inner child (through teaching breath, it’s the inner child part of us who I think has stopped breathing, and we just follow along…my words, NOT Max’s…so this part is my spin on what I learned from him this weekend)…and then once he sees that he had taught our inner child (or teenager) how to breathe…he reaches out to the children who are really in our homes.

I can’t even name the times Max directly spoke about the children in our lives and in our world who need us to breathe down the defenses of our armored lives, our armored chests.

‘Breathe down the defenses’ are my words too, but that’s how I interpreted what I learned. And…it’s what happened in the space of the hours I was in workshops this weekend and what I’m committed to working on from here on ever-after.

I’m sure there’s a lot more that will come out as a result of what I learned. It’s hard to put it into a summary of words because breathing (in my mind) is such a right-brained thing, even if breathing deeply takes some focused effort. Maybe the effort lessens some after you’ve done it longer. It’s too bad we take one deep breath when we’re born and then it seems they get shorter and more shallow as life progresses.

It can be a frustrating and expensive endeavor to have to find healing outside of yourself. And I understand that God doesn’t cost money and definitely is the ultimate healer, but sometimes a person needs the hands of another person God created.

It all just seems so dangerous to me.

Because…for me it HAS been dangerous. On different levels it has been dangerous, and for a time it was the highest danger. I was severely injured in my search for healing…

Healing…Healing is such a painful word for me. When I think of healing I think of pain. It hurts. This is how it has been all of my life. From the time I was a tiny tot.

And I wonder…Is it this way for everyone? Does healing always hurt?

I am learning in therapy now that healing maybe doesn’t always have to hurt, and I feel so gifted to finally have found a therapist with such healing qualities.

Those same qualities scare me. Because…why?

Because people (I guess one in particular who was in the helping/healing field) with those seeming qualities have also hurt me the worst.

Eight years ago I was hurt by a psychotherapist severely. I…can’t really seem to ever find the words for it. I haven’t been able to tell about it. I can’t even really talk about it in therapy even now. The therapist who hurt me so badly lost his license, and I later found out that I wasn’t the only one hurt by him, but that hasn’t cured the hurt. It hopefully stopped him from hurting other people so much.

At times I don’t know how that psycotherapist/abuser isn’t sitting in prison right now. But at other times I can’t get the weight of it being my fault off of me. I can’t surrender fully to either side. If he had been a boyfriend or a stranger or even a family member maybe I could comfortably classify it better. But he was my therapist. It makes everything so confusing and it wasn’t an attack of brutal force, even though the force he used was more brutal, perhaps, than what is traditionally thought of as brutal.

What is rape? I’ve gone over this so many times in my mind. When the memories blast me it reaches right up into my throat and I can’t breathe. Do you know the feeling? It gags me from the bottom up.

And that is how I have lived this experience. Mostly silently.

I’m not really angry at the person/abuser who hurt me in my search for healing (from so many other abuses.) But I need to tell. This isn’t about wanting to hurt. This is about healing.

i need to put it outside of myself somewhere so big that when it’s there, it is clearly there–so clearly not inside of me anymore.

I am ready to say to a broader audience. “LOOK. LOOK AT THIS. This is what happened.” I’m getting stronger so that maybe even me, myself, can know what happened.

I’m hurting a lot. Oh my God, I am hurting a whole lot. Lots and lots and lots and lots more than I ever even thought I could…but what’s so strange about right now is that I also feel better.

I’m healing. Maybe?

Is this what healing is?

I’ve never put the words rape with what happened to me in those dark dark places and moments in that room with him.

And nobody else has ever spoken that word for me. Nobody.

Maybe it’s because I could never tell, so how could anybody ever know.

But then I go back to what constitutes rape and is there a difference between traditional rape and non-traditional rape? Lol, I never heard those terms before, but…I don’t know.

And what about emotional rape?

I guess nobody really cares about that.

I’m sad at myself that i didn’t prosecute him. I’m sad I didn’t have the strength to stand up and say, “No! You can’t get away with this!” and I’m sad I didn’t know better when it happened to begin with. He told me it was therapy. Healing.

I only told a few sentences of things to the licensing board and it was enough for them to revoke his license so I never had to tell it all.

I am proud of myself that I finally reported it to the behavioral sciences board 4 years after it actually all took place, but I’m not proud of how it all arose to consciousness.

I hurt at myself that I hated myself so much…and for so long.

Even now the hate episodes envelop me. I stagger through my life with it.

I’m tired of staggering. I want to be a woman and healthy and strong and available to people.

Available to myself.

A significant amount of my life has been devoted to just this one event. And there are so many others hurts that brought me to this “event” in the first place. Don’t I think it’s about time to be free? I do.

It’s nearly a wordless night. Probably too many feelings. This might be when I should write the most, but don’t feel up to it. I’ll blame it on the splinter I got at the tip of my pinkie finger today. It hurts to type.

So I’m not going to.

But I have such a good streak of keeping up each day I don’t want to walk away. Even if the words don’t want to come out.

I guess that’s ok. I’d rather them come out. Just like this splinter.

Eventually it will fester enough and something will come of it.

I suggested to my husband that I just go get the tip of my pinkie chopped off. (Along with all the other problem areas.)

I have done so much investigating of the body in the last 5 years, I’d think I would have it a little more under control. But that’s the very problem…Control.

Trauma.

I know what has set off the most recent psoas tantrum is riding in a car in a seated and restricted position for 4 days. But if this were the only cause then why isn’t my husband’s psoas complaining…or for that matter, my daughters? We were all sitting the same amount of time and in relatively the same position.

Yet, it is me who experiences this intense and demanding pain.

Trauma.

It leaves me to question as I have questioned for many years now.

Psoas pain is deep, gripping and unrelenting once activated. It can effect the entire being on every level.

Trauma.

I seem to go in circles with pain issues. It’s chronic at this point, but the circles are sometimes more broad and spacious and encompass a set range of symptoms at some times more than others.

The pain circles can be tight, almost like a weaving thread-a fine thread and needle. Intricate, defined, and acute. Other times it is thin and constricting like a binding that covers any given area. And still yet, other times it is thick and suffocating like a blanket, but without the softness or comfort.

I began researching the body, it’s structure, and body/mind responses in 2008, not long after a series of assaults I experienced.

Mostly, I have books I haven’t really been able to read. My body has the answers and I’m afraid to have them confirmed. As long as I don’t have them confirmed from another source I have the magical, false belief that I can make my body change first, and later validation of the truth won’t hurt so much?

Just before the pain, which I still experience 5 years later, I had been frozen. I am not sure if I had ever been “not frozen,” even prior to the assaults in recent years. I think I have probably been frozen, in some ways, from sometime near birth. And though it sounds fantastical I sometimes have to wonder if it wasn’t closer to a time between conception and my real first breath. Because there has never been a time in my history that stress and trauma of some sort was not surrounding my existence.

(It’s funny I used to become enraged if someone suggested I’d ever experienced trauma.)

The first time I actually felt pain was deafening. It was some time in 2008.

I had met pain before that, but I had only really known pain as a word. Not as a felt experience. Even if I had felt it before it was on a much more cognitive level.

Then the floodgates of hell unleashed its fury on me.

I was 28, in massage school and couldn’t walk. However, I did walk. I had to walk. I had to get from place to place. I couldn’t just not do it. My body couldn’t do it, but I had to do it. Somehow I did it. I didn’t miss school. I didn’t fall behind. I graduated with honors. Some people in my class probably didn’t even know I was in immobilizing pain. In fact, most of them didn’t, I’m sure now. ( In hindsight, some people probably thought the scowl on my face was because I was a very angry person. I’m not and wasn’t. I now recognize that wrote expression my “determined to be happy” look so nobody would know anything was wrong, lol)

But the pain changed me. It continues to “F” with me, if you know what I mean.

I have had some breaks with it during short spans since it first came on, but only briefly and to seemingly regain strength at the next intersection. And the pain moves around my body. First, and always, my spine, but it seems to like to “specialize” on one or two areas and then move on. But it always returns to where it has been before. It is the circle.

However, I’m most interested in pains ability to evermore find new spots and new ways to impact me! Truly ingenious.

So, I’m reaching a new level with pain and the amount of joy I am seeking to tap into.

I need freedom.

In the past years I’ve developed ways to deal with the pain. Some of them are old, adaptive, and until recently, dependable, like dissociation. I know that I don’t actually even hold all the pain myself. But then there is the “learning sickness” I carry (sometimes dormant) that takes hold of me. I have a shelf of books dedicated to the mysteries of pain, it’s origin and release. I am always looking for connection. I think this unrelenting wish for connection might, in fact, be part of why the pain does not dissipate.

I’m not ready to talk yet about this pain. Even if I’ve written an entire page about it.

Pain has so many stories to tell.

(What if I told?)

I’m often left without words. The words are buried within the tissue of my body and my soul. Yesterday I spoke of the landfill…and I’m afraid that land is actually my body.

Things ( It’s not “things” and it’s not “nothing.” It’s trauma. Will it kill me to accept it? ) have happened to me on a cellular level. That might be part of why I am inclined to believe that pain and trauma is so woven into me it is deeper than even my breath. It is before breath.

There is an interplay between my body and the release of words, the stories of my life. I just pray to be released from its cycling, a sort of constant repetition compulsion, and to live through the release.

I think this deepness is why I feel such a need on my most real level to “merely” sit together with another human who isn’t going to hurt me in any way. It’s unexplainable the effect that has on me. I have been to many professionals in search of help who have tried to make me jump through hoops for a cure.

Very few people have worked to cultivate the presence of mind and body to do absolutely nothing. I have finally met someone in my life with the courage to do that.

Nothing isworking.

Nothing is real.

Nothing is everything.

Nothing is simple and inherently complex.

Maybe it’s time for me to do something toward that effort too.

(Expect more posts about my personal research and investigations as I begin to crack those books and practice the connection/release exercises I’ve known about for a while. )

Now that I have been to Graceland and back I have to figure out what (and where) home is.

(All thanks to Road Trip Therapy)

Home is where the heart is. Home sweet home.

Why does it feel like I have been away for no time and for an eternity? It’s hard to figure it out sometimes, and I don’t think this is a phenomena reserved especially for me. (Or maybe it is, but just don’t tell me, ok?)

The calendar says one thing, but my experience says another.

I feel so blank and overwhelmed all at the same time.

I want to be home, but I don’t want to be home.

Home is more complicated. There is everything here I need. I know where things are.

But what about where I live?

***

I feel like my body is one big adhesion. I’m built out of scar tissue on my insides. For real. I had my daughter by unplanned/emergency c-section nearly 9 months ago. But only 4 months after I had her I reopened my soul with a rather planned event. An abdominoplasty. And on top of that…or above, if you will…I had a mastopexy and augmentation.

Before the elective surgeries, I destroyed what was left of my knees while engaging in frantic exercise to rid me of myself.

This story gets complicated and deep pretty quickly. Most people will probably stop at plastic surgery and make their own assumptions.

I don’t really mind that. If you make your own assumptions about me then maybe you’ll never see what’s really bad. And you’ll never know the shame that canvases and binds me like a mummy, preserving all my wounds.

I’ve wanted to get it out about these surgeries. So maybe it’s more like guilt than shame. But I don’t know. I’m usually guessing when it comes to determining what I’m feeling.

I just know that I get dressed everyday and I can’t get away…I can never get away.

On the outside I’m healed. My scar healed nicely, although a bit uneven and not exactly balanced and I feel a bit like Frankenstein (and still fat, too, even though my surgeon is thrilled about my results and wants me back in his office for pictures in his “before and after” showcase book. (but I think I’ve put on 5 pounds since he told me that.)) It’s what I feel on the inside. The restriction. The breathing adhesion that I am. From my pelvis all the way up to my neck and seemingly through my mouth…one long cinch through my being. But it can’t contain me.

I deal with swelling from the surgery still, even though it’s going on 6 months post surgery. The scars, the internal restrictions, the swelling…they all trigger me in this place where I’m supposed to living. My home…

The recent road trip was pretty bad. It made the restrictions worse. It effects my entire body. I did a yoga dvd every morning while I was gone and used my foam roller to try to help the blood flow and for things to release, but it’s like a band-aid.

So I’m dealing with this recovery. I have adhesions and knots throughout my body. It keeps me from feeling, but in pain at the same time.

I’m frustrated. I’m just tired of learning too late about things I do to myself. The ways I make my journey more difficult than it has to be. I’m tired of making mistakes. I’m tired of not treating myself with gentleness and understanding. I’m tired of not caring about what’s going to hurt me.

I’m tired of being an exotic self-harmer.

I find it hard to balance.

I find it hard to know what is too much and what might not be enough.

I’m never finding my middle. My heart. My home. My safe place.

Whenever I do think I’ve maybe found it, it’s barricaded.

When I feel this way it makes me want to just get away forever, you know? Like forever away to who knows where.

Everyday when I see those scars and my bloated abdomen from the swelling (or from fat, it’s hard to tell the difference) I still get and the fat that has accumulated everywhere else because I can’t be active like I want to be in my everyday life because of my knees (which I know have not improved, in part, due to the surgeries to my abdomen and the side effects to the rest of my body-I know about body structure/function and I know it’s at least partly causation of my knee problems) I want to turn away from everything. I’m so disgusted with myself. At this flesh that isn’t even me.

But it is me.

It’s my temple. It’s supposed to be my Graceland (I think?)

I dream about a time it will be gone.

I’m disgusted with my body. With my story. These etchings all across me where people can see…and where they can’t.

I’m desperately trying to put the pieces and parts of me together. I’m trying so hard to get the story out. What makes a woman do this to herself?

But I’m disjointed. My knees don’t work anymore now, and I just want my legs cut off. At least my right one, because it’s the worst. And I’m not kidding.

I get excited about healing, but I don’t even really know what healing is. I think it’s a good word. It’s soft and looks soothing to me…just the word alone, written on paper. It flows. It’s nice. It’s a popular word these days.

But what is it? And it seems to cause a lot of pain? Agony even?

Healing is a scary process. I think in healing a person often doesn’t know where they are going, and sometimes doesn’t even know why they are going through variable stages of what feels like torture.

Healing, on the outside, is pretty. Prettiness is rarely what it looks like on the outside.

There should be a new word for this process that involves…so much. So much I can’t find words for what “healing” involves because it is so intense. So consuming. So powerful.

I don’t know what the word for it could be though.

Maybe Life. Maybe it’s just life and that is all it is. Life is short, curt and doesn’t jack around with “prettiness.” Maybe healing on the outside is life on the inside.

And I do know life can be beautiful.

I know it’s semantics here. I think I’m trying to find a way to get me through a sort of healing crisis. I’m at one of those stages (yet another stage of the same) where I just don’t know.

I feel things, and yet I don’t feel things. I know things and yet I don’t know things. I’m living, but don’t quite have breathing down yet. I’m moving, but kind of stuck.

I think I am getting somewhere, but what if I’m not? What if it’s all an illusion? What if I’m asleep and sleeping deeper and deeper instead of waking up?

I want to know why I protect myself this way. I wish how I protected myself felt better.

Mostly, when I go to therapy I look at my therapist and that seems to be incredibly loaded. I don’t know why, but I’m able to look at him (though he might disagree that I’m able to look at him since we’ve probably made eye contact 3 times in over a year, and only by accident!) but…anyway, I look at him and I swear things in my brain turn a million switches by just looking. I wish I could tell about what it’s like to just see my therapist. Except, well, it’s not really me looking…but then it is…but then, no, definitely not. I mean, it’s like….well, there’s just this total amazement that I’m in the presence of someone else who is alive. Does that sound crazy?

It’s been the rare time that I’ve been that close to somebody who is really alive and is…strangely enough…on the same wavelength as me. I mean, how can we be on the same wavelength?

Hmm, I don’t know.

Then I start to doubt myself. Maybe we’re not and it’s all in my head. Maybe he hates me and maybe I should get far away!

I don’t know.

See.

There’s the “I don’t know.” Again.

I wish I could tell how much is happening in a session even when nothing is happening. A LOT is happening, and I wish I knew what it was. Why does this happen in my brain? Why is it such a humongous deal to look at another person?

I don’t think I have ever trusted another person that much.

I have trusted other people. But not like this. It’s sort of killing me!

I have never been to this place in healing, and is that what it is?? Is this healing?

Wow, I just don’t know.

I wish I could remember my life. I wish it would all stay with me. I wish it wouldn’t play hide-and-seek so much. Hide-and-seek is starting to become more scary for me. Because it’s like Hide-and-Seek Tag. And I always hated playing tag. I just wasn’t that proficient at it. I was always the one getting tagged and then when it was my turn to tag someone else everyone would get tired of playing before I could catch anyone. You know where that leaves me?

That leaves me at “You’re It!”

FOREVER!

Oh holy hell! Let’s not play this game!

I guess I sometimes feel tagged and everyone is running from me or hiding from me or making fun of me or just leaving me altogether. And I mean this in a sort of internal way.

So here I am. I’m sort of wandering around and all my “friends” vanish and I’m looking at this therapist guy…who is like a therapist, but not like any therapist I’ve seen so far. I mean, for one thing, he hasn’t hurt me! He actually even helps me!

I actually am…healing.

I think.

Maybe.

Well, for sure it sucks enough sometimes.

So maybe I really am healing.

And maybe it’s not so bad.

There’s also God, Light, Hope within the pain even if it is a little bewildering.

I woke up this morning with a rush of air in my face. Not a literal rush of air, and not like I was windblown. I just felt alive and like I could breathe. I have not had this feeling in a while. So maybe that’s why I had the urge to watch the video of me when I skydived a couple of years ago, on repeat. Because I recognized this feeling, the air against me and in me.

Skydiving probably induced THE best feeling in me I have EVER had. EVER.

EVER.

It’s the kind of feeling there’s not really words for. Maybe I could describe it as the freedom of dying and being reborn. You do basically sign your life away when you agree to jump. The only possible downfall is that in the space of a couple of minutes you age significantly after leaving the womb of the plane. But if you’re lucky, you’re able to leave a little bit of the dying or dead part of you behind.

And you’re left with a memory. Or like me, a video and some still shots of the experience.

I’ve never forgotten that I jumped. I wear the symbol of my jump (a parachute pin) around my neck everyday on a silver chain. It never leaves me. I sleep with it on. The occasional time I dress up and wear a different necklace I carry it with me in my pocket or purse. It grounds me…which is somewhat ironic? Or maybe it’s not ironic. I get asked about it a lot, interestingly enough, by cashiers. (Maybe I shop too much!)

If I didn’t want to pass it on to my children I’d want to be buried with it.

Since the jump, I have continued to wear the parachute pin, but within the last two years my ability to hold on to the beautiful mixture of safety and freedom it symbolizes for me has slipped through my fingers. I’ve gone to pull my figurative pin many times and have spiraled into nothingness instead of beauty. It’s seemed like my chute wasn’t even there.

I could go on talking about the connection I have with the flight I took nearly two years ago now, but I mostly just wanted to share that today, even if just for some moments within it, that God place within me was shining. And I remembered…That was me. That is me and I’m still breathing and loving life just as much as I did during those 60 seconds in the sky.

So often I feel the pain. In fact, my skydive jump that day almost didn’t even happen because of the pain I was in that weekend. I was on vacation. My then boyfriend (now my husband) had taken me to Arizona for my birthday. He had asked me, “If there’s anything you could do for your birthday what would it be?” My reply was, “I want to jump out of an airplane! I want to skydive!” It was my dream. During bad times I used to envision going skydiving and just failing to pull my pin on purpose. But this dream was different. I wanted to jump because I was so excited about living! I just wanted to feel the full rush of life!

But my back had gone out the day before we left. It was so bad I couldn’t walk. It was literally baby steps. (I’ve experienced chronic pain since 2008 when I began massage school, but went into a sort of remission when I met my boyfriend…until that day.) I pushed through. I took the baby steps I could take and ran with them. I had an emergency appointment with my chiropractor, who unfortunately couldn’t do anything to help me. I downed margaritas and pain pills in the airport (which didn’t even really help) before leaving just so I could get through the flight. I remember at that time being so determined to go on the trip even if it killed me.

Things didn’t get better when we arrived and we spent most of the trip in a chiropractor’s office. (That’s when I started thinking maybe I should see about marrying this boyfriend of mine! He didn’t really even complain and he stayed with me the whole time.) We were supposed to do our jump on my birthday, but we had to cancel it because of my back issue. It was so bad I couldn’t even get in the Lazy River at the hotel’s pool.

I had to at least be able to walk from the parking lot to the plane! On the last day we had left in Arizona I asked that we just drive to the jump site anyway (which was at least an hour away from our hotel) to pray and see how things would go. As we neared Skydive Arizona my body began to release. My mind went above me. The grip of pain left enough that I could walk convincingly to the stand to sign up for the jump and sign papers that asserted I was sound in body and mind to make the decision to potentially die on my own accord. It’s unbelievable the pain I had experienced if you watch the skydive video of me that day.

I couldn’t sign those papers fast enough.

I guess I want to mention and remember about the pain I had been in during this time because I still get pain like that now. In various parts of my body, including my heart. Today was actually a “bad knee” day. I want to remember about being excited to live anyway. And it’s good for me to remember that even though the pain can feel (and actually be) debilitating, it doesn’t last forever. At the very least I think the pain changes. Change will happen. It might not be the change I’d choose to happen on the timeline I want it to happen in, but it will change. There is always always always always hope.

And during that jump I felt NO PAIN.

Like I mentioned, I wear my parachute pin every day. I wear it for a lot of reasons. One of them is to remind myself that there was a time in my life I felt no pain, immense freedom, and for a minute nothing in the world could touch me but love and all things good. I was in heaven. I have been lucky enough in my life to fulfill a dream and live to tell about it.

But maybe the most important part of all of this…only weeks before this dream was fulfilled I had no reason to believe I would ever have the opportunity for it. Only a few months earlier I was still dreaming of jumping with no chute.

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE LIFE. ( And never forget to smile-God’s door is referred to as being pearly white for a reason. Darkness fears smiles more than anything else in the world.)

Me with the Chiropractor in Arizona after my last visit

Since this is how most of our vacation was spent I wanted a picture of it. Me on the Chiropractor's table.

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